


What The Big Bad Bat Does To Little Birds

by batsupesgirl



Series: It's A Sin To Kill A Robin-bird [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Dick Grayson, Bottom Jason Todd, Bottom Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Tickling, Pedophile Bruce Wayne, Pedophilia, Pet Play, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, Top Bruce Wayne, Top Dick Grayson, Top Jason Todd, Watersports, kitten play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25410940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsupesgirl/pseuds/batsupesgirl
Summary: After hacking Batman's computer, Tim Drake discovers the real reason why Batman needs Robin and decides to offer himself up as the next victim. VERY DARK! HEED THE TAGS!
Relationships: Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Series: It's A Sin To Kill A Robin-bird [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843654
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	What The Big Bad Bat Does To Little Birds

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of FICTION. It is NOT a realistic portrayal of the mental illness of pedophilia, this is NOT an endorsement of any such abuse. The author despises anyone who would ever commit these acts against a child.

“You need a Robin,” Tim argues for the dozenth time, but knowing what he knows now makes the words sound heavier. “And I know why.”

“You don’t know anything about me, boy.” Bruce growls, looking as intimidating as ever looming over the thirteen-year-old in his Batsuit (everything but the mask), but Tim doesn’t back down.

“ _I was born to be Robin. You can’t scare me off or shut me up!”_

_“Oh, I could, boy. You have no idea.”_

“I know that you’re a pedophile.” Bruce goes more still than Tim has ever seen anyone go. “When I hacked your computer, I found the pictures of what you did to Dick and Jason.”

Tim has barely slept since. He feels guilty even looking at the images of the boys for as briefly as he did. All he saw was flashes of naked kids who looked eerily like him, smiling as if there was nothing wrong with what was happening to them. As if they weren’t covered in sweat, cum, and sometimes even blood.

“Why did you come here? You should have gone to the police.” Bruce asks throatily after a long moment.

He had asked the same question to Jason when he noticed the way he was looking at him, his answer echoes in Bruce’s mind:

“ _Why? So, another rich pedophile can get off with a slap on the wrist and I go back to living on the streets?_..”

“Because I still believe in you. I believe in Batman and the good that you do… the good that you did, when you had a Robin to keep you centered…” Tim makes an effort to keep his voice steady, his tiny fists clenching and unclenching by his side. “What you need is Robin, it’s not about the fighting, it’s about the companionship, having someone to hold at night. I think the only way to help you is by giving you a new, stronger Robin. I can be that.”

Bruce’s expression is unreadable even without the mask, but his eyes are burning into Tim deeper than Superman ever could.

“You don’t know what you’re offering, boy. The Robins are not my partners, they’re my property. Forever, even when they try to fly away. I will hurt you, Tim, badly. Maybe not today, but it will happen.” Tim shivers. Bruce’s eyes are the deepest, darkest blue of a dead sea. They appear fathomless, but Tim finds himself wanting to swim deeper if only out of sheer, dumb curiosity.

Bruce knows his love cannot be handled by just anyone. It destroyed Jason Todd, twisted him into a creature of rage and agony – just like him. Even bright, playful Dick Grayson has been tainted. Tim Drake would end up just like them, his young and promising mind distorted by Bruce’s sickness.

“How many? How many kids have you touched?” He doesn’t want to ask but he must know. There’s a limit to Tim’s forgiveness.

“Only two. Just Dick and Jason. That’s it, Tim, I swear it on my mother’s grave.”

Tim exhales the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Okay. I believe you.” Maybe he shouldn’t, but Tim truly does not believe Bruce would lie on his mother’s grave.

“Both of them pursued me. I know that doesn’t make it okay... but I didn’t force them. They are my sons, Tim, I love them. I never wanted to hurt them… I don’t want to hurt you either.”

Tim didn’t think he’d ever hear Bruce Wayne cry, his hand reaches instinctually to touch Bruce’s hand, to comfort, but he grabs Tim’s wrist tight enough for him to feel the bones grind together. Tim doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t pull away. Batman has always been a predator at heart; if you run, he chases.

“Careful, boy.” His attempt at a growl comes out slightly choked.

Bruce lets go of his hand, seeing the bruises forming makes Tim’s stomach churn. But they’re only bruises, those have always been part of the job. Tim takes a deep breath before he asks the hardest question, the one that will make this all painfully real.

“Tell me about them. Tell me... why. I need to know, Bruce.”

Bruce breaths as if it’s painful, then nods. Tim sits on the bed.

“You deserve to know… I don’t have an easy explanation for you. I wasn’t molested, as far as I know. I just have always been off, even as a kid, I never had crushes or even close friends. The few friends I did have were driven away by me being ‘bossy’, ‘a control freak’, ‘a bully’, however they put it; because I need to possess the things I love, which only got worse after my parents died and I felt so powerless. That’s it, there’s no clear origin.”

Bruce exhales, his eyes full of a deep agony. Tim closes his eyes for a moment, listening intently with cool, heavy dread coiling in his stomach.

“For a long time, I didn’t have time to think about sex or what I liked; I was too focused on Batman. It wasn’t my intention when I adopted Dick. I didn’t know I was… what I am, at the time. I can’t say exactly how or why it started; I started noticing his little body, his hair, his eyes…” So, Bruce Wayne likes boys with blue eyes and black hair, pedophiles usually have a type, or they say.

“Dick was… he was ten the first time I touched him. It was right after he’d become Robin. I slipped once, just for a moment, and after that he was so insatiably curious. He kept asking me to touch him and I was too weak to resist. Then Jason, he was eleven when I took him in and he’d already seen so much that he saw it, he saw how I looked at him and seduced me. I know he did that because he’d already been hurt… I preyed on something horrible that happened to him and I deserve all of Red Hood’s rage for that.”

As if the words drained the strength from his body, Bruce falls to his knees and hides his face in the bed beside Tim’s thighs. Tim reaches out to touch Bruce’s head, to comfort, but the man growls in warning. Tim takes his hand back but does not relent.

“I’m not them, Bruce. I’m not coming to you out of naïve curiosity or past trauma, I’m coming to you out of practicality, knowing what I’m getting into. This is my choice.”

Bruce laughs a humorless, breathless laugh, lifting his heavy head to look at Tim.

“Your problem, Tim, is that you’re too smart for your own good. Most kids would have run away because their gut told them to, just like yours is, but your brain has wrapped itself in knots trying to tell your sweet, idealistic heart that this is a good idea.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you can’t control yourself without Robin, and this is the best chance Gotham has.”

After a long, pregnant silence, Bruce brings his face to Tim’s hairless, dimpled knee and kisses it; softly and apologetically. Tim’s stomach drops like a rollercoaster going downhill. Bruce is apologizing, that means he’s accepting. Bruce gently takes hold of the bony, bruised wrist and kisses each of the knuckles while looking up at Tim as he were a boy-God to be worshipped – or sacrificed.

Tim is looking down at him with baby blue eyes, unflinching and clever and yet innocent at their core. He even looks like he feels sorry for Bruce. Oh, poor naïve little bird. Bruce lets go of his wrist… and pounces in a flash of black fabric, straddling his much smaller hips and pushing him down into the bed.

Tim’s eyes widen, he inhales sharply. But he doesn’t back out. There’s a challenge in his eyes.

“I can tell I’m going to love you, Tim Drake.” Bruce kisses his forehead firmly, his lips hot as a brand. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

The black cape shrouds them, cutting off most of Tim’s peripheral vision. Bruce kisses him. Tim has kissed a boy once, a quick tasting of each other’s lips with only the tips of their tongues hesitantly touching. But this is different, Bruce’s mouth is ravenous, teeth scraping Tim’s lips and a large tongue digging into every little crevice inside his mouth, swallowing down his moans and whines. He didn’t know that kissing could make him feel so much, could send shivers of almost painful electricity throughout his body. Tim’s own tongue feels cumbersome in his mouth as he doesn’t know what to do with it, not that Bruce seems to mind in the slightest.

It feels good but it’s too much. Tim feels smothered by the man’s heavy weight surrounding him, overwhelmed by the sensations. He tries to breath and melt into the warmth instead of being smothered by it, but all he does is moan some more and writhe against the shivers in his spine. As if trying to calm a wild animal, Tim reaches up to touch Bruce’s face with his trembling fingers, feeling the stretchy stubble and warm skin under his fingertips.

As abruptly as it began, the kiss ends. Tim is breathless, Bruce is panting from so deep in his throat that it sounds like growling or purring. Bruce’s hands cup Tim’s face, warm and tender and tilting him up to meet his gaze. Tim is taken aback by the affection he sees there. He had expected to see only lust, maybe even anger, but he sees adoration and sadness and concern.

“You’re afraid.” Bruce states, scanning Tim’s flushed face and tense little body.

“I’m… nervous, not quite afraid.” There’s no use trying to deny it. “But I would be nervous before a fight to, that doesn’t mean I can’t handle this.”

Bruce pets Tim’s longish hair back with eyes that seem to want to devour him and possess him in most tender and apologetic way possible. It makes Tim’s heart ache. Bruce looking at him like this makes him feel small, like the little bird of his namesake, but Tim cannot decide if that is a good or bad feeling.

“I’ll be as gentle as I can be. I don’t get off on hurting people if it makes you feel any better. Well, not kids at least.”

Bruce would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel a stirring of pleasure when he gets to beat the shit out of someone who deserves it, but not his baby birds. He never enjoys it when he has to hurt them.

“It does actually, thank you… wait, what should I call you? Bruce? Or Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce laughs, Tim didn’t know he could laugh and smile this often but apparently this is what he was missing.

“Definitely not, Bruce is fine.”

“Are you sure, I can call you something else if you want?”

Hearing what Tim is too afraid to ask, Bruce leans back in to kiss Tim, only on his cheek. A lingering but gentle kiss, it could be one a dad would give a son if Bruce’s erection weren’t prodding at him through the suit.

“You will be my son, Tim. So, yes, you can call me daddy or dad because that’s what I am to you. I told you, I’m not your partner, I’m your father. I own you, or at least I will by the end of tonight… but I won’t make you call me that, especially not in bed. I like Bruce too.”

Tim reaches up to wrap his hands into Bruce’s midnight-colored hair, his fingers feeling clumsy and unsure, but Bruce smiles at him like he’s in love, and maybe he is.

“Dad?” Tim isn’t sure how his voice got so small. He’s wanted to call Bruce that for so long, more than anything. He didn’t imagine it would be like this, but it still makes his heart flutter.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Bruce kisses the tender underside of his wrist.

“I want to call you dad. It… it makes me feel safe.” Tim thinks maybe that’s wrong, but it does make him feel safer and so he chooses not to think about it.

“You are safe with me, baby bird, daddy has you.” Bruce’s deep voice reverberates throughout Tim’s body, relaxing his muscles and making warmth tingle across his skin.

Bruce kisses his lips again, this time gently. This time, Tim can actually feel his soft, dry lips and the scratch of his stubble. It makes him giggle softly into Bruce’s mouth. The man smiles down at him wider than he’s ever seen.

“You’re ticklish? Oh, baby bird, I can’t wait to play with that later.” A darkly playful promise swims in Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce’s hips start swaying, rubbing his cock against Tim’s flat, hard stomach at a slow pace that feels a little like a dance that Tim doesn’t know the moves to. The sensation is unfamiliar, but Tim is not uninterested in sex with males. He had always imagined his first time being with a boy. Bruce makes a noise almost like a whimper when he cums into his own pants and it takes Tim by surprise that he can make a noise like that.

Tim reaches for the hem of his shirt, but Bruce smacks his hand away. Not hard, but how a mother may smack a child’s hand at a supermarket.

“No, baby. Daddy will do it for you.” Tim feels himself stiffen and his face goes turns red as the sheets, wondering if Bruce can feel it.

Bruce lifts his shirt and Tim raises his arms; they feel light and tingly. Tim’s heart is fluttering wildly in his chest, making him feel lightheaded and weak-limbed. Bruce slides down to pull down Tim’s pants and underwear. For a moment, Bruce just stares at him which makes Tim want to curl inside himself. He would feel insecure about how skinny and small he is for his age, but it’s impossible to feel insecure with Bruce staring at him like he’s the first full moon he’s seen in a thousand years underground.

“Such a pretty boy. My little faunlet.” Bruce murmurs almost to himself.

Then the Batman gloves are off and Bruce’s hands are all over his body. Bruce’s hands are rough but not aggressive, it’s a strange in-between, and Tim wonders if this is how all lovers touch each other. It feels strange, but not bad. Just like his tongue, Bruce’s hands are experts, they find every boyish crevice and tender spot of flesh on his body, leaving him squirming and making a high-pitched moaning noise that sounds annoying to his own ears but makes Bruce groan and flip him onto his front, reaching across the massive bed to grab a bottle.

Tim feels a sudden rush of fear break his haze of reluctant pleasure. He whines and tries to close his legs on instinct but Bruce pries easily them apart and settles himself between them. Tim cannot help but yelp and clench his cheeks when a moist finger prods at his hole. No one has ever touched that part of him, or even seen it. Tim hides his face in the scarlet blankets, making Bruce chuckle affectionately.

“You’re a shy little one. Cute.”

One of Bruce’s strong fingers enters his hole. It doesn’t hurt, not yet, but it feels invasive and odd like an inverted erection.

“I need you to relax.” Bruce orders. “The first time is always the hardest, but it’ll be better if you relax.”

Tim tries, imagining himself as a ragdoll. As Bruce adds another finger, he feels like he’s floating and the sensation of himself being stretched, his sensitive flesh burning, is faraway. It feels as though suddenly his body is not his body, his body is just a doll in Bruce’s arms and he’s in the room watching Bruce play with his little boy doll.

“Fuck, you’re even tighter than I thought you’d be.” Bruce’s voice is breathless with lust. Tim hears him as if he were a TV on in the background.

Bruce’s still rational brain is telling him that he needs to be careful; that Tim is one-third his size and a virgin. Bruce doesn’t want to hurt him with his seven-inch cock, but the rest of his body is screaming for release, his skin is itching with the need to claim Tim as his before he can panic and fly away. When Bruce has three fingers in, he cannot wait a moment longer.

Bruce doesn’t notice that Tim has stopped responding, that his eyes are staring at the gold canopy of the bed but seeing nothing. A doll in his arms. His skin stretches painfully, impossibly wide and Tim feels it but it doesn’t feel like his pain in his body. Tim hears himself start to cry, but Bruce doesn’t hear him, his hands and eyes are still focused on Tim’s body. For what feels like forever and the no time at all, Tim’s body is in more intense, more intimate pain than he’s ever felt. The world is nothing but burning and pain and then he’s out of it and it’s as if he was never there at all.

Tim feels Bruce’s hand now lifting his limp body onto his lap, his hands stroking Tim’s face, and cooing to him about what a good boy he is. Is it over already? Tim blinks up at Bruce who is taking in the damage, and he can already hardly remember what just happened.

“Are you okay, baby? You were crying, you’re still trembling. Fuck, you’re bleeding, shit, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you bleed, Tim.” Bruce cradles the boy in his arms.

Tim whimpers in acknowledgment, then rests his head on Bruce’s chest and instantly falls into a much-needed sleep. “I’m sorry, Tim. Please, don’t hate me, I’m so sorry.” Bruce continues after the boy has already slipped away into darkness.

Bruce knows he should have prepared him more, been slower and gentler, but this is the one area of his life where he doesn’t have complete mastery over his mind and body. It’s always been like this. Since Dick awoke this thing inside him, Bruce has been insatiable. Tim was right when he said Bruce is unstable without a Robin, someone to own and hold at night, but Bruce has lost control on his Robins so many times and he hates himself for it. If he were stronger, he would kill himself and free his little birds, but instead he keeps trying to bandage their wounds and kiss them better.

Bruce notices that Tim is unconscious in his arms and his blood runs cold, remembering the weight of Jason dead in his arms. He checks his vitals, checks to see that the bleeding has stopped. Tim seems to be unharmed at least. Bruce sighs with relief, tucking the comatose boy into bed and kissing his sweet-smelling hair. He heads to the gym to find a way to punish himself.

Later into the night, he stands over the sleeping boy and rubs one out to the way his lithe, soft-skinned body looks tucked into his bed. His boy in his bed. The blood staining the sheets makes Bruce’s heart heavy with regret, but it also marks his claim on Tim Drake.

“My little bird.” Bruce whispers reverently, cumming on the boy’s sweet, soft, sleeping face and then licking it up so softly that the boy does not stir.

He’ll call this an exercise in self-control, Bruce thinks, running his fingers with featherlike softness over that sleek black hair that trails down his neck and falls into his face. Tim is delicate and skinny even for his age, and much shorter than Dick or Jason were at thirteen. Bruce can tell he’s going to be a petite one forever, and obedient too, which is exactly how Bruce wants him. Bruce wants to kiss Tim’s pale, girlish shoulders and nip down, to fuck him hard as the sun rises so he wakes up moaning… but he swallows that thought down with a pang of self-disgust.

Bruce lost control. The boy will still be sore in the morning, and the sheets are still stained with little boy blood. Bruce can at least wait. Tim deserves some space. He deserves to wake up in the morning with his monsters out of sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are monitored for obvious reasons but they are very much appreciated! Comments make my entire day!


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